


Respect

by Jadzia7667



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-03
Updated: 2005-11-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10064168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia7667/pseuds/Jadzia7667
Summary: Harry has a surprising revelation, with a little help from his friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Title: Respect  
Pairing: Snarry  
Rating: G, preslash  
Disclaimer: JKR owns all, I own nothing. If I did, there’d be WAY more homoerotic subtext in the books. JKR has all the blinkin’ money in the world, what would she possibly want with my paltry little accounts? I may have enough put by to buy a cup of Caramel Mocha Latte at Starbucks…maybe. In other words, one cannot get blood from a turnip, or damages from moi. Besides, they’re not damaged. They’re debauched and that’s entirely different, really.

One Shot/Pre-slash

“You should show him a little respect, you know. It wouldn’t kill you.” Hermione Granger’s eyes flashed in irritation at the Boy Who Lived To Annoy. “Especially considering the fact that he’s in love with you.” The Head Girl was exasperated; Harry was so thick sometimes.

Books and bag hit the floor, parchment and quills spilling onto the cold stone floor. Harry leaned against the wall just down the corridor from the Potions classroom, desperate for support. “Excuse me? I believe you’ve just lost your mind. Perhaps we should go and look for it.” Harry stared at his best friend in utter disbelief.

He wondered suddenly if he could cast a spell to be sure it was really Hermione standing there telling him such outrageous lies. He gulped, “I could have sworn I just heard you use the phrase ‘in love’ in reference to Snape…and directed at me. That’s insane. Next, you’ll be telling me you have the hots for McGonagall.” 

Harry Potter just could not believe this day could get any worse. It had already been completely horrible. There was no bacon at breakfast. In Transfiguration, his silk purse flat out refused to turn into a sow’s ear. There were Brussels sprouts for lunch. Harry shuddered, just remembering the smell. Then, Potions; the interminable, double length, extra tortured version, with a double side of sarcasm served by his least favorite teacher ever in the history of teaching.

Snape had told him he was a brainless idiot, before he’d so much as skinned a single shrivelfig, and Harry had muttered something rude under his breath. Then Hermione chastised him for it! What sort of friend didn’t take your side when you were being verbally abused? Hermione didn’t take his side either when he grumbled about the long Potions essay he’d had to first write, and then turn in. Then she shushed him every time he grumbled under his breath about how insufferable, how rude, what an utter prat the man was. Now this.

He grumbled on. “The man hates me with the white hot passion of a thousand suns, Hermione. He assigns me detention for the least excuse. He never fails to insult me, to stare at me. He reeks of malice, Hermione. I’m sure he’s waiting for me to explode something just so he can kill me for it without penalty. Besides, how do you know he’s even gay?”

Hermione laughed. “Think about what you just said.” She enumerated her responses on her fingers. “ ‘white hot passion’…yes, I’d agree with that, but it’s not hatred, it’s love. He assigns you detention so he can spend time with you. He never gives _your_ detentions to Filch to administer.” She fixed a stern glare on her friend.

“He insults you to get a reaction out of you, any reaction at all. At least you’re focused on him, then. He stares at you because he thinks you’re gorgeous, Harry. He reeks of pheromones, not malice; he can’t help it. The man is queer as a Pride Celebration, honestly.” ‘Mione blushed, but only a little.

“You are rather handsome, Harry, didn’t you know? He most certainly does not want to kill you.” She looked at him seriously and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Is it really such an awful thought? I mean, you do prefer men, after all.”

Harry snorted. “That doesn’t mean I prefer him! I am most certainly not handsome. Even if I were, what on earth would he see in a seventeen year old boy? What makes you so sure? How _could_ you be sure? You must be joking.” He glared at her, rising suspicion in his eyes. 

Her eyes grew wide. “I’m not, I swear. I thought you should know, since you’ll obviously never figure it out for yourself. He doesn’t know he told me and I’m sure he’d be embarrassed if he overheard this, so do keep your voice down, Harry. I just wish you’d treat him better. He doesn’t deserve your scorn. You may not love him, but you could at least think of him as something more than your enemy. He’s not, you know. He’s always tried to keep you safe.” Hermione delivered this speech without taking a single breath; quite an impressive feat, even for her.

Harry snorted. “I suppose I _do_ deserve his scorn? I treat him exactly as he treats me and you know it. Please, Hermione, this is all rather unbelievable. Did Ron put you up to this? It’s ridiculous. The man doesn’t love me. People in love do not berate, insult and humiliate the objects of their affection. His favorite pet name for me is ‘brainless idiot’ or sometimes, ‘insolent whelp’. Romantic, that!” He snorted again, nearly amused now.

Hermione continued to talk, Harry continued to disbelieve. “Do you remember the last time he was ill? Two weeks ago, when Dumbledore took his lessons for him? Well, I had cramps that morning.” Harry interrupted her.

“Ewww, Hermione. I _know_ you’re a girl. Must you remind me of it regularly?” She laughed at him and continued, unmindful of his feelings, which were distinctly terrorized at that point.

“Anyway, I went to see Madame Pomfrey for a pain potion, because I’d run out. He was unconscious in the bed nearest Pomfrey’s office. Remember, that last Death Eater raid? He’d been with the Order, obviously, and gotten hurt.” Harry remembered it well; the day the last of the Death Eaters were rounded up and sent to Azkaban.

Hermione continued, “He was tossing and turning; I was waiting for her. I thought he was awake so I asked him if he needed anything. He opened his eyes, but he wasn’t really there, poor man. He said your name.” Harry interrupted again.

“So he says my name and you decide the man’s in love with me? You read too many of those romance novels, Hermione.” She shushed him.

“There’s more. He said your name, asked me if you were all right. I said yes of course you were. There was a goblet of water on the table, so I got him to drink some of it. Then he said the strangest thing. He said ‘Harry must never know’.”

Harry snorted. “He was probably referring to the depths of his hatred. Honestly, Hermione, he stares at me like I’m a particularly noxious bug on a slide. There’s nothing romantic about it at all.”

Hermione put a hand on his arm and hissed at him. “Shut up and listen, before he decides to leave the classroom. I asked him what it was you mustn’t know, and he told me. He said ‘I love him. He must never know.’ Then he passed out again. Pomfrey came back, I got my potion and I had to leave.” She leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms, and stared smugly at him.

Harry blinked. “He clearly wasn’t in his right mind. I’m sure he regrets it, Hermione, if he even remembers it. No, you must be wrong. Maybe he was Crucio’d one too many times.” His voice wasn’t quite so certain anymore.

Hermione kissed his cheek and patted his arm sympathetically. “I’ve got to go. I’m not wrong, Harry. Think about it, at least. I’ll see you at dinner, all right? Just…try to be nicer to him, won’t you?”

Harry leaned back against the cool stone of the corridor, mind reeling. Eventually, he picked up his books and made his way down the corridor, back to the more inhabited areas of the castle. He was deeply confused. He was irritated. He was, reluctantly, intrigued. He’d never thought of his Potions Professor in romantic terms before. He didn’t see why he should be forced to now. Unconsciously, his lips twisted in a petulant pout. 

He didn’t see the black robed figure following him; the Potions Master found that pout irresistible and followed it. Harry never noticed how often Snape followed him or how often the man arranged to be nearby whenever he was wandering the castle. His attention was far away from his surroundings; he was muttering to himself. Snape only caught portions of the boy’s diatribe.

“Insane…in love?...me?...Impossible.” Then he’d shake his head violently, rake his fingers through his hair, and continue on his way, muttering again. “I don’t even know what love is…probably doesn’t even _have_ a heart…” That little speech intrigued Snape; he crept as close as he dared to the boy. 

He hoped the boy didn’t fancy himself in love; Snape would find out who it was and hex them, most painfully. A thought occurred to him and he swallowed hard. He’d seen the boy leave with the Granger girl; what if Harry was in love with _her_? That would be a nightmare of foul proportions; one Snape might not be able to overcome.

The boy was heading towards the Gryffindor common room; Snape couldn’t follow him there. He cursed his luck and reluctantly turned back to his office. The boy was driving him to the limits of his control. The worst part was that the impertinent brat didn’t even realize what was happening. A frustrated sigh escaped Severus Snape from time to time as he viciously applied quill to essay, shredding each and every one to ribbons. He seethed with jealousy, quivered with uncertainty and was in a most foul temper indeed by supper time.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry reached his common room and tumbled inside, grateful to be away from people for awhile. He headed for the dormitory and dropped his books carelessly on his desk. He flopped on his bed, completely undone. He made a halfhearted attempt to study, but his thoughts kept returning to that very odd conversation he’d had with Hermione. He couldn’t get his mind to go anywhere else.

What was he supposed to _do_ about this? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know what romantic love was, for Gods’ sake. How was he supposed to even approach the idea? He’d only ever kissed two girls; he hadn’t liked either experience overmuch. He did know, now, that he preferred boys to girls, thanks to some magazines the twins had lent him at Christmas, but he was fairly certain he didn’t prefer Snape. Still, it wasn’t as though there were many genuine offers coming his way. Perhaps this bore thinking about, at least.

There was a rustle at the door and Ron popped his head in. “Oi, Harry! It’s time for supper, are you coming?”

Harry looked up, surprised. He hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. He nodded. “Coming.” He got up off the bed and followed Ron out to the Great Hall. 

He remarked to his friend, “Hermione is unbalanced, Ron.” The red head just nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“What has she done now, mate?” Ron grinned at him as they took seats at the table and dug into the meal.

Harry related what Hermione had told him, in whispers, looking fearfully around them as he did. He didn’t want anyone to overhear them. Ron nodded and chewed thoughtfully before answering.

“I think she’s right, mate. I mean, I didn’t hear what he said, obviously, but Hermione wouldn’t lie. Not about something like that. He does stare at you a lot. Have you noticed?” A thoughtful Ron was a disturbing sight, thought Harry with a confused sigh.

Ron chewed again and swallowed before continuing his foray into madness. “He’s at every single practice we have, too, just sitting in the stands, watching. I don’t see him on the pitch when the Slytherins are practicing. He watches you at the games, too, instead of his Slytherins.”

Harry groaned. “Don’t you start, Ron! He is not in love with me. It’s insane. He must be plotting my doom or something.”

Ron just grinned that infuriating grin again and jerked his head towards the Head Table. “He’s staring at you right now, mate. Stare back; see if he drops his eyes.” That was remarkably sane advice, coming from Ron. At least he could see if the man really did stare. Wait, why did Harry even care if the Potions Master was staring or not?

Harry dropped his head into his hands and moaned softly. Then he peeked up to the front of the room. Sure enough, Snape was staring in his general direction. Those normally cold and frightening black eyes were certainly not cold now, thought Harry with a blink. They were…warm…searching…somehow more frightening than before.

“Oh Gods, Ron. What am I going to do?” Harry’s voice was as quiet as his frustration would allow. 

“That depends. Do you fancy him?” Ron was still grinning that insane house elf grin, but his eyes were serious.

“No…maybe…I don’t know…I never thought of him that way…maybe…NO!” Harry shuddered.

Ron nodded. “Best figure it out, then, so you send the right signals. It could be really bad if he approaches you and you don’t want him. On the other hand, if you do…” Ron trailed off and shuddered himself, as if realizing for the first time just who they were discussing. 

The two boys fell silent and finished their meal with utmost concentration. Near the end of the meal, Ron ventured to speak again. “Harry?” He gulped. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “If you do find you fancy him…well, I suppose…” Ron’s voice trailed off, then turned resolute. “I suppose if you’re happy, that’s what really counts.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks, Ron. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.” Harry leaned over to speak to Hermione.

“I still think you’re insane, ‘Mione, but…I’ll try to be nicer to him. Can you help me with something?” She nodded and moved to sit next to him. Her warm brown eyes were smiling into his. He slung an arm over her shoulders. Ron snickered.

“I don’t think he cares for you pawing our ‘Mione, mate. He’s glaring over here.” Harry huffed indignantly.

“I don’t know anything about love, ‘Mione, not the romantic kind. Are there books I can read? I need to think about this and I’m only giving myself a headache. It’d be simpler if you’d just tell me what I need to read.” He looked helplessly at her. Hermione only laughed at him.

Snape was raging inwardly at their little display. He was sure now that the Potter brat was in love with the Granger wench. His heart sank. He couldn’t fight it if the boy preferred girls. His eyes blazed over at the Gryffindor table as he watched the dark head bent to the bushy brown one. She was laughing with his Harry. He had his arm around her shoulders. A jealous pang cut through him and he could not watch another minute; with an impressive snap of his black robes, he was gone.

Harry stared after him; he’d been watching the Head Table while he questioned his friend. He began to see what Hermione was talking about. It gave him a very odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was not at all sure he liked. He turned his attention back to what she was saying to him.

“I think we should go to the library after we finish our homework, Harry. There are books you can read, lots of them. Some are about relationships; what makes them healthy and what doesn’t. You should read some poetry, too, to give you a feel for the emotional part.” Here she paused and a furious blush stained her cheeks. 

“I don’t know anything about sex between two men, but surely you’ll be able to tell if you’re attracted to him or not?” Her voice was a question; she really didn’t want to think about her best friend having sex with anyone, much less with Professor Snape.

He laughed at her. “Yes, I have that part covered. I just never have thought about him that way. I mean, he’s a teacher. And he hates me…maybe.” The doubt was clear in his voice now. He had much to think about.

Later, in the library, Harry sat between Ron and Hermione at one of the tables, while she summoned book after book to him. He dutifully looked through all of them, and chose a couple of the poetry books; one by Ardoria Impetus, and a muggle one of poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Hermione handed him a couple of books on relationships, and he skimmed through them, deciding to read them more carefully later.

Ron’s elbow to the ribs roused him. The red headed young man didn’t say a word, just pointed, and covered his chuckle with a yawn. Harry raised his eyes without moving his head, and gasped quietly. At the end of the row, directly in his line of sight, was Severus Snape, glaring at him. Hastily, he lowered his eyes back to the poem he’d been reading.

He read it over again, but didn’t quite understand it. Then he smirked to himself and decided he’d test the waters again. He glanced back at Snape; still there, still glaring silently. Slowly, deliberately, he put his hand out, over Hermione’s that was resting there as she read something or other. 

Harry laid his own hand softly on top of hers and said quietly, but clearly, “Hermione, I don’t understand this one at all. Perhaps you could explain it to me?” He smiled at her and could feel those hot black eyes drilling into the side of his head. He began to read it out loud to her. 

_What can I give thee back, O liberal_  
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold  
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,  
And laid them on the outside of the wall  
For such as I to take or leave withal,  
In unexpected largesse? am I cold,  
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold  
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?  
Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead.  
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run  
The colours from my life, and left so dead  
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done  
To give the same as pillow to thy head.  
Go farther! let it serve to trample on. 

Ron was snickering so quietly that only Harry and Hermione could hear him; his face was bright red from his effort to be quiet. Hermione was smiling sweetly at him. She thought she knew what Harry was doing; it was little enough if it convinced him to look at the man in a different light. She brought her other hand up to brush a lock of hair out of Harry’s eyes. Innocent enough, she thought with a secret smile.

“That’s lovely, Harry. I don’t wonder that you chose it first. Someone’s giving you their heart, after all. You don’t know if you want it, don’t know if you deserve it, have no idea how to respond to it. It’s all right. You have time to get it clear in your mind.” Hermione was referring to the fact that end of term was still three months away. She made sure her voice carried quietly, as well. 

Ron snorted. “What a lot of sentimental rubbish. How hard can it be, Harry, to find out if you fancy someone or not? Now that you know how _they_ feel, you’ve only to decide if you can feel the same way or not.”

Harry’s voice was thoughtful. “I don’t want to make a mistake, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t think this is casual.” He lifted inquiring eyes to Hermione. “Do you?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not casual, Harry. I suggest you watch and listen.” Her voice dropped, so Snape could no longer overhear them. “You don’t really know much about him as a person. Find out. He’s staring over here as though I were a whole group of Death Eaters.” She moved back with a shiver. 

Harry nodded. “Good idea, ‘Mione. You lot ready to go?” He pushed back from the chair, determined to make some sort of contact with the man, who was still standing there, as if frozen to the spot. He headed down the narrow aisle. When he came even with Professor Snape he stopped and lifted his bright green eyes to look into the other man’s.

“Good evening, Professor. It’s nearly curfew. We’re going back to the common room. Sleep well, Sir.” He looked directly into the eyes of his Professor while he made his statement; Snape was speechless. Then Harry was gone, his friends right behind him.

His voice lacked the usual defiance, Snape thought faintly. His eyes lacked the usual malice. What was that about? Snape asked himself the question, knowing he had no idea of the answer. He was trembling. The boy was utterly beautiful, utterly desirable, utterly unattainable. Severus didn’t quite believe that last part as much as he had before.

Harry was increasingly distracted for the next month. He read the books, and began to get an idea of what a normal love relationship might be about. He quite enjoyed the poetry and found himself going back to the library several times for new books. He thought a good deal about what he knew of Severus Snape, as well as what he could infer from his surreptitious observations of the man. Harry had a huge advantage over Snape in this; he had the Invisibility Cloak. He used it shamelessly to watch Snape in all sorts of situations.

He already knew Snape had a core of honesty within himself that guided his habits and thought processes. He already knew the man was courageous; look at the risks he’d taken for years before Harry had finally managed to kill Voldemort the previous summer. He knew they worked well together under battle conditions. He knew the man’s character; he never lied to himself, and he never lied to others. Even when such lies would smooth over ruffled feelings, Snape refused to do it. He was taciturn and rather cranky. He was a solitary man, preferring his own company to that of people he considered less than his intellectual equals. 

He suspected that Severus Snape’s austere and controlled exterior hid a core of passion that, once unleashed, would be powerful indeed. He’d seen the man angry before; he knew his emotions ran deep and were mostly hidden. That rather frightened Harry; to be the focus of such single minded intensity wasn’t something he thought he was ready for. Not yet, at any rate. The thought of that deep well of emotion directed at him gave him an odd flutter and a feeling of heat deep in his belly. 

He watched the man; in classes, at meals, during practice. Ron had been right about that. Snape was at every Quidditch practice Harry attended, and seemed to know if Harry was skiving off one. He attended all the games, too, but Harry didn’t have time to focus on Snape when he was actively seeking the snitch. Everywhere Harry was, if he looked around, he’d find Severus Snape watching him. He found it rather endearing after awhile and tried to meet his eye at least once per encounter. 

He grew to appreciate the look of the man. His eyes, that Harry had once thought cold and emotionless, were anything but. He’d found depths of feeling there that he’d never suspected before. When amused or angry, they appeared to be lit from within with warm flames. Harry wondered what those eyes would look like, if they were lit with desire. His hair, under careful observation, wasn’t greasy at all; instead it appeared to be fine textured and quite thick, with highlights that were nearly blue. Harry wondered what that hair would feel like under his fingers and blushed at the thought. Snape was staring at him as his face flamed.

He observed several acts of kindness that rather surprised him. On further reflection, he found he was not surprised after all. Snape did a lot more for the school than he’d previously realized, from making sure Madame Pomfrey’s healing potions were fresh and up to date, to tutoring some of the younger children in Potions, to comforting a homesick Slytherin girl one evening just before supper.

He spent a lot of time watching his Professor swoop through the Potions classroom and developed a fine appreciation for his walk, the way he moved his hands, and his intensity. The older man was graceful, dexterous and had utterly beautiful hands. He closed his eyes in class, finding that he could retain a good deal more of the lectures when he focused on Snape’s voice with his ears. It was rich and dark, velvety and almost sinful in its depth of expression. His skin fascinated Harry. It was fine textured like his hair, and so very pale that, in torchlight, it appeared sallow. In daylight, it was closer to porcelain and Harry found it quite attractive.

He blinked as that thought slid through his mind. When had he decided that he found Snape attractive? He didn’t know, but he knew it was true. When this revelation occurred to Harry, he was under a tree, leaning against its broad trunk, utterly relaxed and enjoying the sunshine and warmth of a beautiful April Saturday. He wasn’t studying, or reading. He wasn’t doing anything in particular but feeling the warm sunlight, the fresh breeze on his skin and the smells of springtime in his nostrils while his thoughts wandered as they would. 

He knew that if he opened his eyes and looked, Snape would be somewhere nearby, affecting some errand or other. It gave him a sense of security to know that, somehow. He continued to try and catalog his feelings for the older man. He’d had a long talk with the Headmaster a week or so ago; as a result, he felt he understood Severus’ motives for some of the things that had made Harry so angry with him for so long. After processing what the Headmaster had told him, Harry had lost any hostility he was still harboring towards the Professor. 

He knew what he wanted, in terms of a relationship. He didn’t know if he could love the older man or not, but he knew he didn’t hate him and was far from indifferent to him now. He opened his eyes, scanning the terrain. There he was, in the doorway of greenhouse three, engaged in conversation with Professor Sprout. Harry thought for a moment, then gathered his courage to himself and got up slowly. 

He sauntered his way towards greenhouse three. He stopped at a flowerbed, ostensibly admiring the pansies and petunias that were growing there. He waited for Snape to finish his conversation. When Snape turned around to leave, Harry stood tall, and locked his eyes on his Professor’s. He let everything he was thinking show in them, not saying a word. 

Snape looked nervous, and tried to hide it behind his customary glare. The expression in his eyes told Harry he was anything but angry. Harry waited a beat, and then another before he spoke. 

“Good afternoon, Professor. Lovely day, isn’t it?” He let all his curiosity and attraction bleed through his voice. He let his admiration and respect for the other man show in his eyes.

Snape swallowed hard. “Good afternoon, Potter. Yes, it is. Was there something you wanted?”

Harry smiled gently. “Yes, as a matter of fact.” He took a step closer to Severus and stopped, never losing eye contact. “After the Leaving Feast, I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind. I believe we have matters of mutual interest to discuss.” Harry emphasized ‘mutual interest’ so there would be no mistaking what he meant.

Snape’s eyes were wide; startled and naked in his face. “Really? What makes you think that?” His voice was strained and rather higher than its customary deep timbre, with nervousness.

Harry raised a brow. “I think you know, Sir.” Harry allowed his eyes to shine with warmth as he took another step forward. “It would not be appropriate to discuss such matters while I am still your student.” He grinned; he couldn’t help it. Snape was positively pole axed and Harry enjoyed it just a bit more than he should.

He lowered his voice, so it wouldn’t carry on the wind. “In six more weeks, I won’t be your student any longer. I see you. I know you. You’ve been watching me for quite some time, Sir. I’ve been watching you too, did you know?”

Snape nodded silently. Harry nodded back, solemnly. Good, they understood one another. Snape cleared his throat. “After the Leaving Feast, then. Come to my quarters; the password is…” he paused, a slight flush staining his ivory skin. “Green eyes.”

Harry smiled at that. “I’ll be there.”


End file.
